


Round Peg, Square Hole

by Punk Pony (Windress)



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Community: shkinkmeme, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Size Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windress/pseuds/Punk%20Pony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes has done the MATH, ok?! ( Prompt Fill: <i>"It's not that Holmes doesn't want to get intimate with Watson. He just happened to have had a glance at lil John once (at the Turkish bath?) and the sheer size of it scares him."</i> )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Round Peg, Square Hole

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Prompt fill for [](http://community.livejournal.com/shkinkmeme/profile)[**shkinkmeme**](http://community.livejournal.com/shkinkmeme/)   prompt " _"It's not that Holmes doesn't want to get intimate with Watson. He just happened to have had a glance at lil John once (at the Turkish bath?) and the sheer size of it scares him."_ Silliness and Crack ensues.

Holmes hadn’t really _meant_ to look, it was just that his naturally inquisitive and deductive mind suggested (nay, _insisted)_ he gather all relevant data in respect to his dear Doctor, including those of the reproductive respect. So, in other words, he looked.

  


Oh. Um. Perhaps that hadn’t been such a grand idea after all.

 

It was possible at that point that Holmes made a little noise of distress, quickly swallowed, but heard nonetheless by Watson. The lounging doctor opened his eyes and turned his head from where he was stretched supine on the wooden slats of the bathhouse benches. “Hmm?” he murmured.

 

Holmes cleared his throat, eyes darting, then affixing to some neutral space in the distance. “…your towel, old boy. Has slipped.”

 

“So it has…” Watson shifted, one fist curling in the plush material of his towel wrap and tugging it back in place. Holmes breathed out a sigh of relief, as though a large dog had just been returned to its cage, and missed entirely the wicked glint in Watson’s eye.

 

“Right. Well then, shall we move on to the Cold Plunge?” Holmes asked, flickering his dark eyed gaze to Watson once he deemed it was safe. At his companion’s nod, he thought to himself, _Perhaps it will shrink that monstrosity to something reasonable._

Turns out, it didn’t.

  


****

  


After that, the amorous relationship that had taken root between the two men, gradually budding with unplanned kisses and late nights sat pressed close on the settee, seemed to wilt like the proverbial dying plant. This was not for lack of trying, at least on Watson’s part. The Doctor found it all very frustrating.

  


He could not for the life of him understand why Holmes suddenly seemed distracted all the time, skittering around the rooms like an over stimulated child anytime Watson thought to make some romantic advance. Furthermore, the detective had taken to dousing himself in all manner of obnoxious chemical combination, whether by dint of experimental catastrophe or otherwise. Watson found he simply could not bear to sit near him when Holmes reeked of sulfuric fumes or was coated in a crusting of unnameable slime. Even a surgeon of his experiences had his limits.

  


And lately he had begun to suspect that Holmes had taken to drugging him. The milk in his tea had tasted funny for the last week, and it corresponded with an alarming... ah… _physical_ malady that Watson was yet unwilling to admit to anyone. So. Either Holmes was drugging him, or Watson had ceased to find the detective sexually intriguing. And as the latter was, quite literally, impossible, it must be the former.

  


Therefore, Watson formulated a plan.

  


****

  


Said plan went into effect the next morning.

  


Watson strode into the sitting room, his dressing gown still knotted about his waist. This greatly surprised Holmes, who was accustomed to Watson’s general fastidiousness and propriety concerning physical appearances. He recalled, somewhat belatedly, that the doctor’s pubic hair had been immaculately trimmed. Nonetheless, Holmes said nothing; only eyed Watson warily as his friend called out a cheerful good morning. He deduced Watson was on to him.

  


The detective’s conclusions proved correct when Watson sat himself in his customary armchair and rested his copy of the morning’s paper on his knee, reaching to make himself a cup of tea and forgoing the milk. Watson did not like tea without milk. Holmes narrowed his eyes and looked out the window, gnawing at an overly bitten thumbnail. When he glanced back, he found Watson watching him expectantly, and commented with a slight peevishness to his voice, “No milk for you today, my dear?”

  


“Mmm. No, not today, old cock.” Watson replied, his tone utterly casual as he set his still full cup of tea on the side table between them. He was still watching Holmes as he said, “Seems to have been a bit off lately; Perhaps Mrs. Hudson’s delivery has soured.”

  


The doctor raised his eyebrows, as though to imply that even _he_ did not honestly believe that, and Holmes felt his eyelid twitch in a telling manner. Clearing his throat, the detective tilted his chin up at an angle and steepled his fingers, finally replying in a convincingly even tone, “Yes, I expect that’s a possible—“

  


“By the Way…” Watson interrupted; his eyes pale and bright over the edge of his newspaper, “I intend to roger you in precisely five minutes.”

  


Holmes bolted upright from his slouch, sitting very straight, the whites of his eyes showing. He loitered there for perhaps a minute and a half, in which he and Watson stared unspeaking at one another. In another moment, he toppled his chair in his hasty departure, and Watson threw down his newspaper in order to make chase.

 

****

  


Catching his flighty detective proved to be rather easier than Watson thought it would, seeing as how Holmes had been known to evade detection from all of Scotland Yard on occasion. Watson took it as a sign; both that Holmes was very well aware Watson would never truly make him do anything he did not wish to, and that the detective was not completely adverse to having this conversation. Still, they led a very merry chase round their shared rooms; Holmes dodging with jackrabbit-like agility over piles of discarded paper and half-erected chemistry equipment, and Watson following at a more sedate pace, but with the same intensity a wolf reserves for his next meal.

  


“Holmes…” Watson utilized a bored tone, trying not to sound out of breath. “You know we must address this if we’re to pursue a relationship any further. You _do_ wish to pursue the relationship, don’t you?”

  


“I don’t see why pursuit is necessary at all, dear Watson.” Holmes did give pause, though, a finger held to his lips as he perched half on top of his writing desk. “We already share quarters, there’s no viable reason for marriage as it would lead to imprisonment, and we are already quite satisfactorily intimate with one another.”

  


“ _Satisfactorily Intimate?!_ ” Watson choked out, his expression flushed with indignation. “Holmes, we haven’t pressed lips in a Week! _You drugged my Tea!_ ” When the detective merely looked at Watson in a puzzled manner, the good doctor suppressed the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers and instead lunged at his erstwhile flatmate. He caught Holmes around the waist and in the flailing that followed, they both tumbled to the sitting room floor, thankfully caught by tiger skin rug. Watson refused to relinquish his grip on Holmes, rolling instead to bear all his weight upon his companion.

  


“Why…” Watson wheezed, crawling up Holmes’ prone length without easing his weight off the man, “..did you drug my tea, Holmes?”

  


Holmes looked up at Watson with blank eyes and a stubborn angle to his jaw, “I did not drug your tea, dear boy. I merely drugged the milk.”

  


“You _know_ what I mean!” Watson exclaimed, flopping down on his detective’s chest at last. He mentally cast about for a way to make Holmes confess, “have you… have you tired of me already?!”

  


“What?!” Holmes scoffed, his hands coming up to grasp the lapels of the doctor’s dressing gown, “Watson, don’t be preposterous. My emotions for you are as unchanged now as they have been for several years.”

  


At that, Watson drew his head up in surprise. “…years? Truly?”

  


Holmes made a noise of impatience, “Of course, my dear.”

  


“And yet you are drugging me now, to cool my ardor for you.”

  


Holmes brightened, a pleased expression crossing his feature, “Well done, old boy. Have you yet deduced why?”

  


Watson sighed, staring down at the man he held closest in his heart.He wondered at his willingness to endure conversations like these, despite their frankly derailed nature. “…. I can only assume it is because you do not want to lie with me.”

  


“If by ‘lie with you’ you actually mean _fornication_ , as I am sure you do, then No, Watson. That is not the case. I should very much like to lie with you.” Holmes hesitated, dark eyes flickering away from Watson’s hovering face, “…your penis, on the other hand…”

  


“I beg your – Holmes! My… my Penis?! What the bloody hell is wrong with my pe—“ Watson cut himself off from saying it again, grimacing, “..with my _tackle?_ ”

  


Holmes made a noise of displeasure, “Really, Watson, you’re a doctor. Can’t you even use the appropriate scientific term for the region of discussion?”

  


“Fine.” Watson sighed again, “What the bloody hell is wrong with my _Copulatory Organ?_ ”

  


Pausing, the detective tilted his head to the right, then nodded to indicate his approval. “Ah, well, certainly you have noticed, old boy. It’s size is distinctly….”

  


Watson found himself waiting to hear the end of Holmes’ sentence, lofting his sandy eyebrows slowly. “….yes?”

  


But Holmes just looked frustrated, peering up at Watson with suspicion writ on his face, eyes narrowed. “Come, Doctor. Surely you know of what I infer! Your Organ is… mathematically unsound! I’ve run the numbers several times, and it… it just won’t fit.”

  


“Won’t fit…” Watson echoed, a slow look of comprehension dawning on his features. He braced himself on his elbow over Holmes, arms bracketing the other man’s shoulders, “…Holmes…”

  


“Please, Watson, do not bother to doubt my calculations! I remember quite well the dimension of your penis when last I saw it, and correlating its length and diameter with the available space in my… in _ME_ , I—“

  


“Are you telling me you ran mathematical formulaes to determine if I could bugger you?!” Watson’s voice was suspiciously high pitched, as though he were struggling not to start laughing. A telling twitch at the corner of his moustache only confirmed the theory, and Holmes glared indignantly up at him from the rug.

  


“This is no matter of mockery, Watson. Have you not heard what I have said?! Dimensionally speaking, we are simply incompatible!”

  


“My dearest Holmes,” Now Watson _was_ laughing, a low timbre chuckle that Holmes could feel through his chest, “ _Sherlock._ Please believe me when I say that my cock, as well as your…roundmouth..” The doctor reddened slightly, though he was still shaking with mirth, “…are both remarkably well suited for the purpose of intimate affairs. I know I seem large, but the human body is both adaptable and supple…”

  


The doctor finally allowed himself to fully acknowledge the lean frame pinned beneath his own, pale eyes trailing to the exposed vee of Holmes’ throat. “You’ll stretch.” He finished throatily.

  


Holmes found himself strangely titillated by his companion’s words, no less the tone in which he said them. Licking his lips hesitantly, Holmes cleared his throat in order to draw Watson’s gaze back to his eyes. The unfettered need he saw in his doctor’s face weakened his resolve considerably.

  


Still. Facts remained facts, one could not simply alter the data through wishing. “My dear, I am afraid your logic is flawed, and—“

  


Watson wasn’t a fool, not entirely at least. He could see very well the direction this (already ridiculous) conversation was headed. So he did the only thing that had ever proven, barring physical harm, to shut Sherlock Holmes up.He swooped down and slanted his mouth over the detective’s, lips crushing close to coax Holmes’ mouth open, tongue pressing inside. Holmes’ hands slid upward on instinct, his fingers delving into his lover’s short-cropped hair as the kiss drew itself out. Both men lost themselves in the flavor of the other, completely forgetting the argument upon which they’d been engaged.

  


Only when air became an issue of vital import did Watson draw his mouth back, gasping lungfuls of air against Holmes’s cheek. He could hear his companion’s equally labored breathing, and couldn’t help but smile.

  


“..I propose… “ Watson panted, “..a compromise.”

  


Holmes’s only response was a grunt, but Watson knew he was listening. He brushed his kiss-swollen lips to the detective’s ear, feeling his lover jerk beneath him in response. “Why don’t _you_ … Bugger _me_?”

  


Holmes moved so quickly, Watson could only give an inarticulate noise of protest as he was flipped from his position of advantage to the floor, back splayed against the tiger skin rug. He stared up at Holmes in exasperated surprise, to which his detective only smirked and settled over him. “Well done, Watson.” He said, as this had been a foregone conclusion all along, “I accept.”

  


And once Holmes kissed him again, Watson figured that was alright.

End.


End file.
